


Thin Mints and Meddling

by myhomeboy_stilinski



Series: Beacon Hills Public Meddles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Beacon Hills public meddles, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fluff, M/M, Stiles is bullied, Stiles is the failwolf, Sweater-wearing Derek, There are Girl Scout Cookies, and people acknowledging that, this is pretty much Derek deserving nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhomeboy_stilinski/pseuds/myhomeboy_stilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles would be the first person to admit that living in a small town had its drawbacks, with privacy being non-existent and sneaking around near impossible. But there was something to be said about the solidarity and loyalty that filled a close-knit community. People stood up for one another. They contributed and helped. They loved each other. Truthfully, Stiles pitied those who incited the wrath of someone from Beacon Hills. </p><p>To Stiles’ eternal gratitude, he had never prompted said wrath.</p><p>That is, until he met Derek Hale.</p><p>****<br/>The one where the people of Beacon Hills realize that Derek Hale deserves nice things (in case you missed the tags.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thin Mints and Meddling

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that some of the content can be construed as bullying and if that might trigger you, please don't continue :D

Stiles would be the first person to admit that living in a small town had its drawbacks, with privacy being non-existent and sneaking around near impossible. But there was something to be said about the solidarity and loyalty that filled a close-knit community. People stood up for one another. They contributed and helped. They loved each other. Truthfully, Stiles pitied those who incited the wrath of someone from Beacon Hills.

To Stiles’ eternal gratitude, he had never prompted said wrath.

That is, until he met Derek Hale.

* * *

He had been back from college for a week, celebrating the beginning of summer break with a COD marathon and an inordinate amount of unhealthy snacks, when the food in the house seemingly disappeared and Stiles realized that his father should be coming home to healthy hot meals and not pizza, or hot pockets, or Cliff bars and Pop-Tarts.

Stiles had taken a shower, scrubbing off days of grime and finding Dorito crumbs stuck in unfortunate places, before lovingly spending an hour conversing with Roscoe, his life-partner, soulmate and jeep.

Living in New York, and attending Columbia University, meant no car and Stiles had felt Roscoe’s absence deeply.

When he turned on the ignition and felt that, frankly worrying, rumble deep inside his bones, a piece of Stiles settled.

The drive to the local grocery store was a short one and Stiles enjoyed the light breeze from the open windows – Roscoe’s air-conditioning unit had breathed its final breath in Stiles’ sophomore year of high school.

It was early and a Friday and the store was packed with stay-at-home mothers and older ladies. Stiles, with a proficiency of living in a cut-throat New York for a year, quickly navigated the long aisles, dancing around grumbling seniors and mothers fighting over the last bottle of cheap wine.

It wasn’t long before Stiles made his way to the check-out counters, cart loaded with low carb, low sodium and protein rich foods. The cashier was a lady named Marie who had babysat Stiles a few times in his younger years. She was the motherly type, worrying and fussing about every living thing.

“Stiles!” She exclaimed when he finally came to the front of the queue.

“Marie,” he beamed at her while he started unpacking his cart, “how are you?”

“I am wonderful, now that I can finally look at your funny face again.” She started scanning the food. “I see that you’re still making sure your old man eats well.”

“Gotta lower that cholesterol and blood-pressure,” Stiles answered, waving around a cabbage.

“Put that down before you hurt someone,” Marie tsked,  smiling fondly at Stiles. “How’s fancy New York?”

“It’s good.” Stiles handed his card over.

“I still don’t understand why you had to go all the way over there when there are perfectly good universities on the west coast.” She swiped the card aggressively, her small smile the only indication that she wasn’t truly upset. “I just hope that you haven’t picked up any nasty habits or manners.”

Stiles gasped, “Moi? Never. I am the epitome of grace and chivalry.”

Marie snorted, waving him away, “Go, you’re holding up the line.”

Stiles grabbed the plastic bags, hooking two over his forearms and clutching the others in his hands. (Two trips were for the weak.)

He was halfway across the parking lot – trying to ignore the way one of the bags was digging into his pinky finger – when a small sweet voice sounded to his left.

“Hi, Mister. Would you like to buy some cookies?”

There was a table to his side, set up against the wall of the store and the voice seemed to belong to a little girl. She was tiny and couldn’t have been older than six. Her light brown hair curled around her small face, framing two big and pleading blue eyes. She was dressed in the customary Girl Scouts uniform and she was _adorable_.

Stiles couldn’t resist it. He knew that Girl Scout cookies weren’t the healthiest and that his dad would devour them, but looking at those puppy eyes – worse than Scott’s, which was saying something – Stiles couldn’t say no.

He gently dropped his bags next to the table and dropped down to one knee to the little girl’s level.

“Yeah, what do you recommend?”

The girl giggled and picked up a few boxes, explaining each type and rating them according to her own preference. A woman neared, gently placing a hand on the girl’s head.

“Jessica, sweetheart, maybe you should let him choose now,” she interrupted. She smiled at Stiles and apologized for her daughter’s rambling.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve been known to ramble myself.”

The mother smiled again before turning back to the group of other women standing to the side.

“Uhm, I think I’d like a box of Thin Mints,” Stiles said. Jessica looked up at him, her bottom lip trembling. “Annddd, uhm, a box of those Peanut Butter Patties. And Caramel deLites?” She nodded, satisfied, then turned and spotted another person leaving the store.

It was a man, around Stiles’ age, dressed in dark clothes and a leather jacket. He was an impressive size with bulging muscles and broad shoulders and all around striking body. His eyebrows were furrowed, dark and thick and casting a shadow on his face. He was scowling and Stiles felt a justified thrill at the serial-killer-esque vibe he was projecting.

“Uhm, maybe you shouldn’t…” Stiles trailed off, hand reaching out to Jessica. The little girl turned to Stiles with a confused look on her face. “He doesn’t…uhm...I don’t think he would like cookies.”

Admittedly, Stiles was feeling slightly protective over the little girl and the guy just looked like bad news. Like one of those people who crushed little girls’ dreams in their spare time.

“Why?” Jessica asked, still confused.

“Well, he, uh, he looks a little scowly,” Stiles said. Jessica’s mouth thinned and she looked unimpressed. Shit, how do you tell a little girl not to try to sell cookies to a serial-killer? “He looks like a werewolf.” Stiles finally blurted out. “An unfriendly, rude werewolf with unfriendly, rude eyebrows.”

The girl’s mouth dropped open and her eyes narrowed to a venomous glare. Startled, Stiles took a few steps back.

Jessica whirled around and stalked to her mother, whispering something to the group of women. In sync, about six women and two little girls turned around and glared straight at Stiles.

Jessica’s mother approached him, her frame tense and a scowl on her face.

“Jess said you wanted three boxes. That will be $15.”

Stiles knew that that was definitely a steeper price than usual, but he didn’t argue, still thrown by the antagonistic stares. He handed over the money.

“Der-bear,” Jessica’s voice rang out. Stiles watched as she sprinted toward the man in the leather jacket. Said man caught Jessica and spun her around a few times.

Oh god, no wonder everyone was so hostile, Stiles had probably insulted a family member or something. He grabbed his three boxes and the bags full of groceries and hightailed it to his jeep.

Once he was inside the car, he spared another glance at the table. The man was chatting with the woman – who all seem to be fawning and drooling over him. He was attractive; Stiles could see that now that he was looking past the eyebrows and stubble. The man had bunny teeth and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. In hindsight, the man looked like a giant intimidating teddy bear.

Stiles drove home, willing away the embarrassed blush on his face.

God, it didn’t actually matter that Stiles was trying to save his father’s life with healthy food, because he was going to die laughing when he found out about Stiles’ little misadventure.

* * *

Stiles was right. His father laughed for a solid two minutes after Stiles was done recounting the story. Stiles burrowed his face in his hands.

“Just shut up and eat your vegetables,” Stiles groused, his face hot.

“Just you, Stiles,” the Sheriff chuckled as he speared a green bean onto his fork. “Who was he?”

“Who?” Stiles asked, digging into his own pile of veggies.

“The ‘Tall, dark and broody stranger’?” Stiles’ dad quoted from his retelling.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, “I didn’t really want to stick around.”

His dad hummed, pulling a face as he chewed on a piece of celery.

“I think that Jessica called him ‘Der-bear’, though?” Stiles continued. The Sheriff coughed, choking and eyes watering.

“This will be the death of me,” he complained, staring forlornly at his plate, “I think I might know who you’re talking about. I should’ve known, really. His name is Derek Hale.”

“Hale? As in the Hale fire a few years back? One of those Hales?” Stiles stopped eating, focusing intently on his father.

“Yes, he survived the fire, along with his sister and uncle.” His dad pushed away his plate, daring Stiles to say something about the vegetables left over.

“Isn’t his uncle in a coma?” Stiles asked. The fire had happened in Stiles’ freshman year of high school and it had been big. Stiles remembered seeing newspaper article after newspaper article about the Hales and their contributions to Beacon Hills.

“Yes, and Derek and his sister, Laura, moved to New York. I can’t blame them for wanting to get away.” His dad shook his head, a hurt in his eyes that reminded Stiles of their own loss. “A few months ago, Laura came down to fetch some things that we released from evidence. She was hit by a drunk driver. She didn’t make it. Derek has been staying here since.”

Stiles bowed his head. God, to have lost most of your family in a fire, only to have a remaining family member also die.

“This town is pretty protective over him,” his dad said, grabbing his plate and walking to the kitchen. “I think everyone wants him to know that he’s not alone and that he deserves to have people care.”

“And I called him an ‘unfriendly, rude werewolf’.” Stiles felt like an absolute asshole. “I thought he was a serial killer.” He groaned.

“To be fair, he does look like a serial killer,” Stiles’ dad tried to console him.

“It’s the eyebrows,” Stiles agreed, waving his hands in exasperation, “And the stubble.”

* * *

Stiles had expected that to be that. The incident had happened and it had been mortifying, but it was done. He certainly didn’t expect there to be more vitriol from the good citizens of Beacon Hills.

It was the Monday after and Stiles had been craving a movie theater experience for months (college had kept him a bit preoccupied.) He had bought a ticket to see some or other dystopian movie (honestly he was only there for the butter popcorn) from an impolite teenage girl, before going to the snack stand.

He ordered popcorn, emphasizing the _butter_ part, as well as Twizzlers, a Coke and some M&M’s. But when the cashier angrily put butterless popcorn, Sprite and Milk Duds onto the counter, Stiles realized that he was garnering some attention. He was being glared at and the scene seemed horrifyingly familiar.

He paid for the snacks, too intimidated to say anything, and quickly entered the movie theater.

* * *

Stiles soon forgot about this encounter, staying in the house for a few days, lazing around. It wasn’t until he decided to take a walk that he remembered, because _it happened again._ He was strolling around the block, stretching his legs and enjoying the fresh air.

A jogger appeared around the corner. Not seeing Stiles, the man bumped into him, almost bowling him over.

“I’m so sor-“ the man started to say, before he saw Stiles. “Oh, it’s you. Nevermind.” And he jogged away.

Stiles stood there, bemused, experiencing a strong feeling of _déjà vu._

But still, once is an incident, twice a coincidence.

* * *

And three makes a pattern.

Stiles became increasingly aware of the glares and stares and all around hostile expressions of the people surrounding him.

He had gone to Best Buy to buy some new games, having finished those he owned more than once, and had approached the cashier with a justified amount of trepidation. For once, the cashier merely scanned the games ~~and did his fucking job.~~

But as Stiles turned around to exit the store, a girl his age said, “What? You couldn’t find a game where you could kill some unfriendly, rude innocent werewolves?”

And three makes a fucking pattern.

* * *

“A werewolf? You seriously called him a werewolf?” Scott’s tinny voice sounded over Stiles’ computer speakers. Stiles frantically waved his hands around, trying to convince Scott that he was speaking the truth with the flailing gestures, but instead only succeeding in making the video lag and jump awkwardly.

“I was trying to save a little girl from a serial killer,” he moaned. Nobody seemed to remember that part.

“But he isn’t a serial killer…” Scott prompted.

“No, but how should I have known? It’s the stubble, man. And the leather jacket. Even you would’ve been wary, and you trust _everyone,_ Scott.”

On the screen Stiles watched as the door behind Scott opened, revealing Scott’s high school sweetheart, Allison.

“Oh, hey, Stiles. How’s California?” She asked settling next to Scott on his bed.

“Terrible,” Stiles grumbled, “everyone hates me because I called one guy an ‘unfriendly, rude werewolf’.” Allison bit her lip, obviously suppressing laughter. “Is New York still good? Still standing without me?”

“We’re coping,” she said, dryly. “But I want to hear more about this werewolf thing.”

“Stiles called this guy a werewolf and now everyone’s mean to him, because the guy is like, I don’t know, the town’s pet or something,” Scott draped his arm over Allison’s shoulder, leaning into her in a way that Stiles should be used to, but really isn’t.

“Okay, if you’re going to canoodle in front of me, we might as well just say goodbye right now.”

Stiles watched, in horror, as Scott mouthed at Allison’s shoulder.

“Okay bye,” he best friend said, snapping a hand forward and closing his laptop, leaving Stiles with a dark screen.

Stiles should have seen that coming.

With a heavy sigh, Stiles leaned back on his desk chair. He was watching the dust motes spin in the single beam of light coming from his window when his stomach growled loudly. Stiles knew that there wasn’t any food in the house as he had been putting off shopping for a while. He really wasn’t up for more judgmental stares. With another sigh and grunt, Stiles stood up from his chair and reluctantly trudged downstairs. He grabbed his keys and made his way to his jeep. Outside, across the street Mrs. Burberry was trimming her roses. Stiles waved amicably, but she ignored him.

It stung - the unfriendly and antagonistic attitudes. Stiles wasn’t used to this type of treatment. Everyone usually liked him, being the son of the good sheriff and all.

Once again, Stiles found himself at the grocery store on a Friday morning. Luckily, the Girl Scouts table was gone and Stiles could enter the store without trouble. The store was just as busy, if not busier than when he had been there last and Stiles took advantage of the chaos to blend into the crowd and quickly fill up his cart. He loaded up on some chips and soda and candy, intending to eat his feelings.

Stiles aimed for Marie’s counter again, needing some love and positivity in his life. When he arrived at the front of the queue Marie eyed him and didn’t say a word.

“What? No! Not you too, Marie!” Stiles tried to hold back tears bubbling up, because he was so fucking done with this shit.

“Yes, me too,” she answered gruffly. “Derek Hale is a perfectly nice young gentleman and I won’t condone any badmouthing toward him.”

“I wasn’t…he was…it’s the stubble.” Stiles dropped his head, resigned.

“He’s had enough happen in his life…and frankly you have no place coming here insulting a fellow neighbor. Honestly, you picked up some bad habits in fancy New York.”

“I just called him a werewolf,” Stiles mumbled. “And what about me? Does no one seem to care that I grew up in Beacon Hills? Is there no loyalty to the sheriff’s son?”

“Sweetheart, you could be the Pope’s nephew and no one would give a damn about you if you messed with Derek Hale. Don’t you see? That kid has had a messed up life and he needs this. He needs people in his life that care.” She held out her hand for Stiles’ card. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s a sweetheart who goes out of his way to help any- and everyone.”

“Really, him?” Stiles fumbled with his wallet.

“Yes, him,” she waved at Stiles, “now, go! You’re holding up the line, again.”

“Wait, just…how can I get people to stop? You know, with the staring and the hating?” Stiles begged Marie with his eyes. He needed to somehow fix this.

Marie shrugged, smiling at Stiles, “I suggest you get to know Derek Hale.” And with that she turned around to help the next costumer.

Stiles returned home and quickly made a healthy lunch for himself and his father, considering Marie’s words all the way. When he finished, he packed the sandwiches (made with rye bread) into containers and set out for the Beacon Hills police station. At said station, Stiles was once again treated like a base criminal. Nobody greeted him as they usually did and he just made a straight beeline to his father’s office.

Sheriff Stilinski was hunched over his desk, his hand rummaging in a brown paper bag. The delicious smell of Daisy’s diner’s curly fries reached Stiles.

“Dad,” he sighed, chuckling as his dad jumped up, hand retreating from the bag and a guilty look on his face.

“Stiles,” the sheriff coughed. “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Yep, I brought food.” Stiles waved the containers. “But I see you’ve already eaten.”

“Aww, kid. Can you just lay off once? I’m working on a tough case.”

“I will.” Stiles dropped into one of the chairs sitting in front of his father’s desk. “If you give me some of those curly fries.”

His dad eyed him cautiously, but grabbed the bag and held it out, “Okay, what did you do now?”

Stiles took the bag, immediately delving into its depths for the deliciousness that is Daisy’s curly fries. He crammed a load into his mouth.

“I didn’t do anything,” Stiles spoke, a curly fry falling into his lap. “I’ve just had a bad couple of days.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Stiles’ dad shuffled the paperwork on his desk into a pile. “I told you this town is protective.”

“You did,” Stiles admitted, pushing the bag away, because he was feeling a bit sick to his stomach. “But I can’t say that this was what I expected. Even Marie is angry at me. Marie!”

His dad winced, “I’m sorry, son. I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Marie said that I should get to know Derek. That that would help me to get on everyone’s good side again.”

His dad shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“But I don’t know where I can find him…” Stiles muttered, pleading.

“Well, unfortunately, I’m not sure either.” His dad’s brow furrowed as he thought.

“I guess I could be a bad event. He seems to be attracted to those.” Stiles grinned. His dad shot him a sharp look, obviously not pleased.

“Ask Parrish. I’m sure I’ve seen him hang out with Derek once or twice. He’ll know where he is.”

Stiles spent another half an hour hanging out with his dad, trying to cajole him into eating the sandwiches he made.

As he left, Stiles stopped at Parrish’s desk. He was on his computer, typing away.

“Hey, Parrish,” Stiles said, trying to get his attention. “Uhm, can I ask you something?”

“You could. But I won’t guarantee that I’ll answer it,” Parrish said without stopping his typing.

“Do you know where I can find Derek Hale?” Stiles wringed his hands before tapping against the desk in a nonsensical manner.

“Why?” Parrish finally turned to him, eyeing Stiles suspiciously.

“I want to apologize?”

“Is that a question?”

“What? No, I want to apologize.” Stiles continued tapping.

“If I tell you, will you stop that?” Parrish asked, glancing at Stiles’ hands. Stiles immediately stilled them. “He volunteers at the library. He should be there now,” he sighed. “Now, go away. And don’t upset him.”

Derek must be quite special to Parrish as his voice had gone soft and warm at the end.

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

Stiles quickly exited the station and hopped into his jeep. The library parking lot was quiet – something Stiles was grateful for. He didn’t want an audience for this. Stiles made his way up the steps and inside and was immediately enveloped in a warm book-and-coffee smell. There was a small café on the second floor and the smell was wafting down. Stiles forgot how much he loved this library.

He walked to the information desk, but stopped when he saw Derek to the side, helping an elderly man reach for a book on the top shelf.

Stiles couldn’t believe he had ever thought that Derek could be a serial killer. He had a soft cashmere sweater on (with fucking thumbholes, how adorable is that?) and a big smile on his face. He still had the stubble, but instead of looking menacing it looked soft and incredibly well groomed. Stiles kind of wanted to rub his face against it. His leather jacket was missing in action.

Stiles slowly approached, unsure - now that he was actually there - what he was going to say.

“Hi, can I help?” Derek’s voice was simultaneously higher than Stiles expected and smooth and gruff. Up close, his eyes were striking. _Heterochromia,_ Stiles’ brain suggested helpfully, defining the incredible way Derek’s eyes were colored. Brown-blue-green-gold. God, he was so attractive.

“Uhm, hello. My name is Stiles. Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Your name is _Stiles Stilinski_?” Derek asked, his voice filled with doubt (or maybe judgment.)

“Meh, you don’t want to know what my real name is.” Stiles waved his hands around in emphasis.

“Don’t I?” Derek smiled, teasing.

Oh my god, so attractive.

“You don’t. It’s horrific.” Stiles scratched at his neck, feeling supremely awkward and self-conscious, because Derek was unexpectedly attractive (both in an aesthetic way and personality wise.)

“Alright, what can I do you for, Stiles Stilinski?” Derek made his way back to the information desk. Stiles stood still for a second, absorbing Derek’s choice of wording. Derek seemed to realize what he said, because his ears tinted pink.

“Uh, I don’t know if you’re aware, but this town is in love with you,” Stiles blurted out. Derek raised his eyebrow - a perfectly sculpted thick eyebrow.

“I was not aware. Why do you say that?” He started packing books laying haphazardly on the counter of the information desk into a pile.

“Because they hate me.”

Derek froze, then looked up with a confused expression on his face. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

“Uh, it’s kind of a long story. Have you had lunch? Because I was thinking we can go to Daisy’s. Her curly fries are legendary. I had some with my dad today, but I couldn’t fully enjoy them because I was stressing out because everyone hates me and I didn’t know what to do about it. Now, I’m craving the curly fries. If you’ve already had lunch, that’s fine. We can stay here. Or if you’re not really interested I can just leave. I don’t mean interested as in _interested_ interested, just you know…interested. Though, I wouldn’t be opposed if you were _interested_ interested. Not that I’m saying I’m asking you out on a date. But I would be if you were…ya know…interested. Or not. No…uhm…point being I was wonder-“

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, “I would love to go to Daisy’s with you.” And then he smiled this small, shy, little smile. “And I won’t say I’m not _interested_ interested.”

The town of Beacon Hills might be in love with Derek Hale, but if Stiles was completely honest with himself, so was he, because not only had Derek kept up with Stiles’ rambling, but he had admitted that he wouldn’t mind going on a date. With Stiles.

“Oh. Great. That’s fantastic. Uhm, can we go now?” Stiles kicked at a piece of carpet, suddenly feeling shy himself.

“Yeah, yeah, we can go now.” Derek beamed, then his smile fell, “uh, wait. I actually still have a few things to do and I need to tell Lydia I’m leaving.” He pointed at the back of the library where Stiles presumed this Lydia was. “How about you go ahead and grab a table and order and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can?” Stiles found himself nodding and walking out the door in a daze.

Daisy’s was busy, as it usually was. The patrons’ eyed Stiles with disdain. Stiles wouldn’t miss that when it finally stopped. The owner, Peggy (she had named the diner Daisy’s, because she liked the name), seated Stiles at one of the worst tables – right in the middle of the floor and in everyone’s way, which meant people bumped into it quite often. A waitress showed up a second later, popping her gum and seeming unimpressed with the world.

“Hi, can I have two orders of cheese burgers with extra curly fries,” Stiles said, leaving out the drinks as he wasn’t sure what Derek would like. He figured everyone loved burgers and that he couldn’t go wrong with that.

The girl chewed, said “whatever” and walked away.

Stiles had to endure another few minutes of awkwardness. Paranoid that everyone in the diner was plotting his death.

When Derek stepped through the door, Peggy was at his side at once, bubbling and bouncing for joy. Stiles could see the moment Derek told her that he was here with him, because she stilled, eyes going round and face contrite.

Derek neared the table and sat down across Stiles, smiling in greeting. The sound of the diner seemed to dim down a bit.

“Hey,” Stiles sighed, a bit embarrassed by the soppy sound of his voice.

“Hey,” Derek returned. “So, you said something about people hating you?”

And that prompted the story. Stiles quickly told Derek about the incident at the Girl Scouts table, blushing and stumbling as he explained what he called Derek. He then told Derek about the subsequent days that followed.

“Wait, let me get this straight. You called me an “unfriendly, rude werewolf” and now everyone hates you? That seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Derek frowned, his eyebrows pulling together and nearly creating a monobrow.

“Like I said, this town is in love with you. You seriously haven’t noticed how they treat you?”

The waitress stopped at their table, putting down two plates with gigantic burgers and a mountain of fries.

“Anything else?” She asked, eyeing Derek appreciatively. Stiles scowled.

“Stiles?” Derek asked. Fuck, what a gentleman.

“Uh, yeah, I’d like a coke, please.”

“Same for me, thank you,” Derek said, shooting a dazzling, bunny-teethed smile at the poor woman.

When she left, Stiles turned back to Derek, “I hope a burger was okay. I figured you can’t really go wrong with Daisy’s burgers, I mean amiright? Or was I wrong? You kinda look like one of those people who subsists off salads – not that there’s anything wrong with that, and it’s clearly working for you, because damn, muscles. Oh shit, I should’ve ordered a salad, I’m so-“

“Stiles, relax. I allow myself to cheat every now and then,” Derek winked. “And I love Daisy’s burgers.”

Stiles felt a little bit closer to falling in love with Derek Hale, because he wasn’t running the opposite direction. In fact, Derek seemed to be finding Stiles’ rambling endearing.

“Anyway, you never answered my question,” Stiles bit into a curly fry.

“What question?” Derek asked, delicately biting into his burger – a bit of the sauce escaped his mouth and trickled down the side.

“Uhm…I asked you if you really haven’t noticed how everyone treats you,” Stiles stared at the line of sauce, wanting to lick it.

“I noticed. I just thought that this town was friendly,” Derek licked his lips, catching a bit of the sauce.

“It is,” Stiles agreed, biting into his own burger to distract himself from Derek. “It just isn’t _that_ friendly to just anyone. I mean, I’m the son of the sheriff and still people acted like I was the devil’s advocate. One of my friends told me that I could’ve been the Pope’s nephew and everyone would still hate me, because they adore you.”

Derek dropped his burger into his plate, looking visibly upset. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles snorted, waving away the apology with sauce-stained hands. “Don’t be. Anyway, apparently the only way for me to redeem myself in the eyes of the public, is to get to know you.”

Derek’s face went blank, “Is that the only reason why you’re doing this?”

“Oh god no,” Stiles flailed, almost tipping over the ketchup bottle, “No, I was actually hoping that…”

“Hoping that what?” Derek prompted, his own face looking hopeful.

With her unbelievable timing, the waitress appeared, setting down the two cokes.

“Anything else?” She asked, still eyeing Derek.

“No, thank you.” Derek smiled, still the epitome of grace and chivalry. The girl walked away, reluctantly and Derek fixed his gaze on Stiles again. “You were saying?”

Stiles chuckled at Derek’s needling before taking the plunge and saying, “I was actually hoping that this could be a date.”

Derek’s answering grin was blinding.

For three hours, they sat in the middle of the diner, lunch turning into coffee and then some more coffee and then some more coffee. Stiles learned that Derek had been in the middle of studying (at Columbia as well) when Laura’s accident happened. He also learned that Derek spent his days in Beacon Hills helping various people with home improvement tasks or at the library. (Stiles now understood why everyone was obsessed.)

“You ever think of going back to New York?” Stiles asked as Derek took the check from the waitress. He made a grab for it, but Derek kept it out of reach, deftly sliding his card to the girl.

“Maybe,” Derek looked at Stiles, his smile going crooked. “If I have the right incentive.”

After he had paid, they walked outside. Stiles was reluctant for the date to end and if Derek’s slow pace was any indication so was he.

“Do you need to go back to the library?” Stiles asked.

“No, Lydia said she’d lock up.”

They stood in front of Stiles’ jeep, loitering awkwardly.

“I have some Thin Mints left over.” Stiles bit his lip, looking at Derek from underneath his eyelashes, shy again.

“Huh?” Derek’s nose scrunched up. So fucking adorable.

“Do you want to come finish them with me? You know, we owe it to them for meeting.”

Derek’s lips twitched, but he nodded seriously. He took a step forward and crowded Stiles’ space.

“I’d love that,” he whispered, before slowly moving closer, giving Stiles the chance to move away if he wanted. Like hell was he going to move…well…backwards, that is.

Derek’s lips were soft, much like his cashmere sweater Stiles was clutching in one hand. They kissed slowly, languorously. And his stubble felt _amazing,_ gently brushing against Stiles’ cheeks.

“You know when I told you to get to know Derek Hale, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” a voice popped their little bubble. They broke apart, but Stiles stayed close, hand still clutching Derek’s sweater.

Marie was standing on the sidewalk, her face split in a smile.

“Though I suppose, just like Derek, you also deserve nice things, Stiles Stilinski.” And then she walked away.

Stiles looked up at Derek, marveling at the slick shine of his lips.

“I think we both deserve nice things,” he whispered.

Derek smiled, eyes crinkling, “Come on, let’s go eat some Thin Mints.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Any and all mistakes belong to me, of course, because I have nobody who loves me enough to read and edit the gay stories I write. *Go sits in corner and cries*. If this was terrible, let me know, so that I can never again write in my life.


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